


Awkward

by writeonclara



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Steve Rogers, Bartender Bucky Barnes, Fluff, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Secret Identity, but he's still that little guy from Brooklyn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-15 15:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17531477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeonclara/pseuds/writeonclara
Summary: “Hi,” Bucky said.The guy froze, looking up at Bucky with startled—and really rather stunning—blue eyes. Bucky tipped his head up and curved his sweetest smile at him, which he figured would a) charm the guy out of wanting to fight him or b) would further annoy him. Bucky was hoping for the former.Instead of doing either a) or b), the angry blond looked over Bucky's head, looked back down at his feet, and then said, all in a rush, “I’m Steve.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, this is a very self-indulgent, short-chaptered, likely super fluffy ongoing fic that is going to be my palette cleanser between WIPs. Also, apparently, I have a _thing_ for Steve being really bad at pursuing Bucky.

Bucky had just lit his cigarette when a slender blond man stalked up to him like he was looking for a fight. And okay, yeah, Bucky was sort of a fighter, when he needed to be, but that wasn’t the point. The point was, he had _no idea_ who this fella was, nor what he could have done to piss him off this badly.

The guy stopped midstep, and then just started—pacing in front of Bucky.

Bucky grinned a little, resting his chin on his palm, elbow propped against his knee. The guy was dressed sharply, with a perfectly cut white button up tucked into fitted black slacks. But his sleeves were rolled up, revealing delicate wrists and strong forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, the wings of his clavicles swooping up. Black ink stained the palm of his right hand and the edge of his thin jaw, and, for some reason, the bridge of his nose was red and slightly swollen. Maybe it was the guy’s hobby to pick fights with strangers.

“Hi,” Bucky said.

The guy froze, looking up at Bucky with startled—and really rather stunning—blue eyes. Bucky tipped his head up and curved his sweetest smile at him, which he figured would a) charm the guy out of wanting to fight him or b) would further annoy him. Bucky was hoping for the former. 

Instead of doing either a) or b), the angry blond looked over Bucky's head, looked back down at his feet, and then said, all in a rush, “I’m Steve.”

Bucky sucked in his lips to hide his sudden grin. Damn. This guy was cute. Even if he was mad at Bucky. “I’m Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve said, seriously. He lifted his eyes to stare very hard at Bucky’s right shoulder.

This time, Bucky couldn’t hide his grin. Steve’s eyes darted up to his face, just for a second, and then he got even pinker and he lifted his eyes to the sky. “Nice to meet you too, Steve.”

“Good,” said Steve, vaguely threatening, then scowled furiously at him and stormed away.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Steve saw Bucky Barnes, he nearly broke his nose.

He was walking back from a coffee run with Tony, listening with half an ear as the other man chattered on about the new features in his Iron Man suit, when a man walked out of a bar. 

Steve walked into a pole.

This really was solid proof that Steve’s life could, oftentimes, be the punchline to a terrible joke.

Instead of helping him back to his feet, Tony stood over him, clapping sarcastically. “Beautifully done,” he said. “Nine out of ten. JARVIS, did you get that recorded?”

“Shut up,” Steve gritted out, cupping his nose with both his hands. It was wet, which meant he’d managed to give himself a bloody nose while checking out the hot new bartender. Wonderful. “Who is _that_?”

Tony waved a disinterested hand, already engaged in typing something on his phone. “Who knows. More importantly, don’t you have a meeting with Japan in thirty minutes?”

Steve gaped up at Tony, horrified, then looked down at his shirt. It was covered in blood. “Oh no.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You have _got_ to come with me,” Steve insisted, pulling on Sam’s sleeve with one hand. They were standing outside of Assemble, the swanky bar across the street that was cheerfully profiting off the Avengers’ fame, much to Tony’s disgust. 

(Steve refused to let him shut it down. For many and varied reasonable reasons.)

Sam batted him away. “Who am I talking to, here? Didn’t you, Steve Rogers, take down a pile HYDRA goons with nothing but his fists and terrible life choices just last week?”

“Yes,” Steve said, unabashed.

“I highly doubt this bartender of yours is going to come at you with an uzi,” Sam said. “What are you so freaked out about?”

“If you think facing down an uzi is more frightening than facing down _all of that_ ”—he flailed a hand at the door—“you are _seriously_ mistaken. Come on. I need a reason to go in there. I can’t just stroll in at”—he checked his smartwatch, made a noise of irritation and swiped away all the alerts, and said, “eleven in the morning, by myself. He’ll think I have a problem.”

“You _do_ have a problem,” Sam said.

Giving up verbally trying to convince Sam to wingman for him (ha), he grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him toward the door. If Sam really didn’t want to go, he could have easily dug his heels in, but he gamely allowed himself to be muscled into the bar.

Actually, Assemble was more of a cocktail lounge than a bar, and as soon as Steve crossed the threshold from chaotic city traffic to rich wood floors, soft mood lighting, fancy dresses and expensive cologne, he abruptly felt underdressed and out of place. Which, all things considered, was ridiculous. But he wasn’t like Tony who could stroll into a place and own it, no matter what he was wearing, or like Natasha who could melt into the background of any setting. And he wasn’t the face of the Avengers (he was more of the man behind the plan) so instead of the recognition he may or may not have deserved, he got, at most, curled lips and disdainful eyebrows.

“Let’s do this,” Steve said, dropping Sam’s wrist and squaring his shoulders.

Sam stared at the side of his head, amazed. “Never mind, you were right. Please invite me along every time you come here. I demand it.”

Bucky was at the bar, wiping down the counter and ignoring the lady trying to catch his eye. He looked up with a smile when Steve stalked over to him, trailed after by an amused Sam.

“Steve!” he said, flashing that devastating grin. Steve’s heart flopped over. Oh holy crap, Bucky remembered his name.

“Hello, Bucky,” Steve said, gravely. Behind him, Sam let out a surprised, strangled sound. “This is my best friend, Bam.” Abruptly realizing his mistake, he gasped, “I mean, Sam! Sam. Sam, this is Bucky.” He stared, horrified, into baffled gray eyes, and then added, “Now that the two of you are acquainted, I am going to go die under a bridge. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”

And, face on fire, Steve pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the bar.

* * *

There was a long, vibrating moment where Bucky and Sam watched Steve fly out of the bar, as if the hounds of hell were biting at his heels.

Bucky turned to Sam. Sam turned to Bucky. 

“Drink?” Bucky suggested.

Sam crumpled onto one of the bar stools, dropping his head into his hands with a gasping laugh. “That _man_.”


	4. Chapter 4

The third time Steve officially met Bucky, his nose was bleeding. _Again_.

“There is just—so much blood,” Bucky said, sounding a mix between horrified and fascinated. He held out the roll of paper towels to Steve. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital? I think you might be hemorrhaging.” He paused. “Or is that just what a bloody nose is? Can’t remember.”

Steve stuffed another paper towel under his nose. He was probably obliterating every single one of Assemble’s health codes. “No hosbital,” he said, muffled and stuffy and more than a little depressed. This was not how he planned on meeting Bucky after that horrible ‘Bam’ incident. He’d planned to be _suave_ and _cool_ and _not_ like he was a teenager again, punching his way through all his problems.

Bucky slid onto the stool next to Steve, propping his elbow up on the bar and resting his chin on his hand. “What happened, anyway?”

Steve watched Bucky over the massive wad of paper towels. He considered telling him the truth: that he’d been jumped by five HYDRA operatives on his way to work and had to fight his way out with nothing more than a penknife and his bony fists. 

“I ran into a pole.”

Oh, okay, that was fucking excellent. At least he wasn’t lying. He _had_ run into a pole, days ago. Why couldn’t his troll brain have provided him with something that made him sound marginally less like a walking disaster, huh? He could have said he had stopped a mugging. Or saved a kid from rush hour traffic. Or, hell, he could have said that he was saving a cat from a tree and the branch broke and—

Bucky rubbed his lips together, which Steve was quickly beginning to realize meant he was holding back laughter. “Face first?”

“Obviously,” Steve said, moodily. Well, what the hell. All his dignity was gone with the wind, anyway. Might as well go for broke. “Do you want to go on a date?”

Bucky barked out a laugh, shaking his head. Before Steve could even cringe with abject humiliation (although he knew, he _knew_ that was going to be Bucky’s reaction), Bucky said, “You’re something else. Fuck yeah, I’ll go on a date with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Twitter now! You can find me @writeonclara


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